


The Christmas Party

by beanhappiness



Category: Afdeling Q | Department Q (Movies)
Genre: Carl is so depressed, Christmas Party, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-23
Updated: 2020-12-24
Packaged: 2021-03-11 05:01:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,962
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28269552
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beanhappiness/pseuds/beanhappiness
Summary: There is a Christmas party at the police station. Carl is having an awful time, because of course he is. Luckily, Assad makes it bearable to be there.Chapter 1 is in Danish, chapter 2 is in English.
Relationships: Carl/Assad
Comments: 2
Kudos: 16





	1. Julefrokosten

Rose stirrede på Carl med fulde øjne. Carl prøvede at ignorere hende.

”Hvorfor er du her overhovedet? Du hader fester,” sagde hun.

Hun havde ret. Den her form for arrangementer var ikke ligefrem Carls kop te, og i den times tid han havde været der, havde han da også kun snakket ganske lidt, med nogle få personer. Egentlig var han der vel kun for én persons skyld, men det havde Carl ikke tænkt sig at snakke om.

”Gratis mad,” svarede han i stedet.

”Sikkert,” sagde Rose.

Hun troede tydeligvis ikke på ham. Men valgte alligevel at vende opmærksomheden væk fra ham, for i stedet at snakke med ham der sad på den anden side af hende.

Carl himlede med øjnene, da _Last Christmas_ startede for tredje gang.

Det var officielt, politijulefrokosten var det værste han havde oplevet hele året. Og det var på trods af, at der var en der havde prøvet at stikke ham ned i oktober.

Hvis han så i det mindste kunne drikke sig fuld, som hovedparten af hans kollegaer var lige nu, men det var udelukket. Han havde været igennem en ordentlig omgang halsbetændelse og havde endelig, efter tredje gang hos lægen, fået lov til at få penicillin. På det tidspunkt var lortet så også begyndt at sprede sig til øjnene.

Men selvom det var så godt som væk nu, og han kunne synke igen, uden at det føltes som om han slugte barberblade, så var han stadig på penicillin. Derfor måtte han officielt ikke få alkohol. Selvom den eneste grund til at han overholdt det, i dette julefrokosthelvede, var at han sad mellem Rose og Assad. For han vidste at ingen af dem ville lade ham drikke. Rose havde allerede flere gange stoppet alle der prøvede at give ham snaps, med tydelige instruktioner om at han ikke måtte få. Hun så ud til virkelig at nyde det.

Carl sukkede, da flere af hans kollegaer sang med på omkvædet. Han blev nødt til at finde ud af, hvem det var der styrede musikken, inden de nåede at sætte _All I Want for Christmas is You_ på igen.

”Rose har ret. Hvorfor er du her overhovedet, Carl?” spurgte Assad.

Assad havde tilsyneladende siddet det sidste minuts tid og holdt øje med Carls miserable tilstand.

Carl kiggede over på ham med en panderynken. ”Hvorfor er _du_ her? Du må hverken drikke eller spise hovedparten af maden, hvad fanden er der ellers ved at komme til en julefrokost?”

”Måske vil jeg bare gerne være sammen med mine kollegaer og have det sjovt?” Assad smilede. ”Desuden har jeg spist masser af mad.”

”Nå ja, hvad var det det var? Vegansk flæskesteg, eller sådan noget pis?”

Flere af deres yngre kollegaer havde forlangt at der skulle være veganske og vegetariske alternativer til de traditionelle retter.

”Nej, bare ganske almindelig and.” sagde Assad.

”Uh, er du nu sikker på det var halal?”

”Hvorfor er det at du _altid_ vil diskutere?” Assad rystede på hovedet.

Carl kiggede lidt på Assad. Han vidste jo godt at han ikke burde prøve at starte en diskussion hele tiden. Men det var bare nemmere for ham, på den måde. Så kunne han holde bestemte ting lidt på afstand. For eksempel, hans grundlag for at være taget med til den her fest. Men vigtigere endnu, bestemte følelser der var forbundet med det grundlag. Følelser der var begyndt at volde ham store problemer.

Carl rejste sig. ”Jeg går ud og ryger.”

Men lige som han skulle til at rejse sig, blev der klasket at par store hænder på hans skuldre, og han følte hvordan han blev presset tilbage i sædet. Det var Peter, ham der stod for hele arrangementet.

”Nej, det gør du ikke. For nu skal vi have risalamande,” sagde Peter.

Carl lod sig demonstrativt dumpe tilbage i stolen.

”Simone, slukker du lige for musikken et øjeblik?” spurgte Peter.

En af de yngre betjente nikkede og stoppede musikken med sin mobil. Nu vidste Carl i det mindste hvis mobil han skulle stjæle.

Peter klappede højlydt hænderne sammen. Så der blev hurtigt stille i lokalet og alle vendte opmærksomheden mod ham.

”Inden vi kommer for godt i gang med snapsen og øllet, skal vi da lige have en omgang risalamande. Og der er selvfølgelig også en mandelgave.”

Han hev en kuvert op af brystlommen.

”Og vi har flottet os i år.” Peter viftede med kuverten. ”Vinderen får et weekendophold for to.”

Denne udmelding udløste mumlende begejstring rundt om bordet.

Med kun et par dage til juleaften, kunne Carl forestille sig at op til flere af hans kollegaer gerne ville have muligheden for at overraske kæresten eller ægtefællen med en ekstra julegave. Nogle ville måske være nødt til at give den til deres bedre halvdel med dårlig samvittighed, efter at være kommet lidt for tæt på en kollega i løbet af aftenen.

Carl havde allerede set et par enkelte, være lidt for tætte, med nogle han vidste de ikke var gifte med. Men det kom ikke ham ved, det måtte de selv rode med.

En flirt til julefrokosten var det sidste Carl behøvede at bekymre sig om. Han var ikke interesseret i at blive involveret med nogen af sine kollegaer. Eller måske én. Men det var udelukket, det vidste han godt. Af flere årsager. Og det var noget han havde affundet sig med for længst.

”Carl, risalamande.” Rose satte en tallerken foran ham.

Carl kiggede ned på den velvoksne portion med risalamande der svømmede i varm kirsebærsovs. Han lavede en grimasse.

”Jeg har ikke lyst,” konstaterede han.

”Pjat med dig. Man skal da have risalamande til en julefrokost.” Rose satte den anden portion hun havde i hånden foran Assad. ”Du skal også have, Assad.”

”Tak, Rose,” sagde han. Han lød heller ikke for begejstret.

Rose gik tilbage til buffetbordet for at hente en portion til sig selv.

Carl skubbede igen sin stol ud. Nu ville han altså ud at have den smøg.

Men så mærkede han igen en hånd på sin skulder. Denne gang var det dog en mere rolig berøring. Det var Assad.

”Vent nu lige fem minutter mere, okay?” Assad smilede til ham.

Carl sukkede og gav definitivt op på at ryge, før det smeltede Dannebrog foran ham var spist.

Den smagte forfærdeligt. Den kunne kun være hjemmelavet.

Halvvejs gennem portionen støtte Carl på et problem. En mandel. Hvilket betød at det var ham der havde vundet det skide weekendophold. Men Carl havde ingen intentioner om at gøre krav på præmien, for han nægtede simpelthen at forfalske den glæde som Peter og de andre juleglade tosser ville forvente at se.

Han skubbede lidt til Rose, til hun vendte opmærksomheden mod ham.

”Rose, lad os skifte tallerkner. Jeg har mandlen. Du må godt få den,” hviskede han.

Hun lyste op i et stort fuldemandssmil, og erklærede højt: ”Carl har mandlen!”

Det satte gang i snakken rundt om bordet. Nogle mumlede irriteret, enten af ærgrelse over at de ikke selv havde fået den, eller i irritation over at det var netop Carl der havde. Nogle begge dele.

Carl ville ønske han kunne synke i jorden.

”Værsgo,” sagde Peter der igen stod bag ham og nu rakte konvolutten til ham. ”Og så tror jeg vi alle sammen er meget spændte på at høre, hvem du har tænkt dig at tage med?”

”Ja, Mørck, hvem er så heldig at få lov at tilbringe en hel weekend i dit muntre selskab?” var der en der råbte, fra den anden bordende.

Det var der flere rundt om bordet der grinede af.

Men ikke Carl. Langtfra. For joken ramte ham hårdt. I det mindste grinte Rose og Assad heller ikke.

Carl stak irriteret konvolutten i jakkelommen og vendte sig så mod Assad.

”Kan jeg så for helvede få lov til at gå nu?”

Assad svarede ikke. Han kiggede bare undskyldende på Carl. Men Carl valgte ikke at blive og se på det triste syn. Nu skulle han fandme have den smøg.

Carl følte først en smule ro da han stod nede i gården, og havde fået det første skud nikotin. Freden blev dog hurtigt afbrudt, da der kom en kvinde over til ham.

”Dav!” sagde hun.

”Dav?” gentog Carl.

Han havde aldrig set hende før.

”Ja, vi har vidst aldrig rigtigt hilst på hinanden. Jeg hedder Gitte. Det var Carl, var det ikke?” sagde hun muntert.

Carl nikkede.

”Ja, jeg så jo at du vandt mandelgaven. Det var da ellers en flot gave, hva’?” fortsatte hun.

”Det var det vel,” sagde han.

Et kort øjeblik overvejede han at give hende den. Måske ville det få hende til at gå. Men han besluttede sig for, at han dog stadigvæk hellere ville give den til Rose.

Carl prøvede at ignorere Gitte, men det var svært, for munden ikke stod stille på hende. Hun blev ved med at snakke om det skide ophold, og prøvede at få ham til at sige hvem han havde tænkt sig at tage med. Han kiggede over mod tre kollegaer der stod lidt væk. Kunne hun ikke gå hen til dem i stedet for?

”Nå, der var du, Carl.”

Carl vendte sig mod den velkendte stemme, og åndede lettet op, da han så Assad komme hen mod dem. Det så ud til at han endnu engang ville blive Carls redning.

”Jeg var ved at være bange for du var gået hjem,” sagde Assad.

”Nej da, jeg blev som bare opslugt af Gittes spændene historier,” sagde Carl, og formåede at skjule sin sarkasme.

Gitte slog til hans arm. ”Din charmør.”

Carl smilte anspændt til Gitte, inden han mimede _hjælp mig_ til Assad.

Assad sendte Gitte et smil. ”Kan jeg lige låne Carl et øjeblik? Der er lige noget vi skal snakke om.”

”Ja, ja. Selvfølgelig. Jeg går over til de andre imens,” svarede Gitte og slog ud med armen, over mod den lille gruppe der stod lidt væk.

Da Carl var sikker på at Gitte ikke så det, gik han tilbage mod bygningen. Det var bare med at komme væk imens hun var distraheret. Det kunne kun gå for langsomt.

Carl var ved at være frustreret. Han kunne ikke få et øjebliks ro, og han havde det af helvedes til. Ingen så ud til at ville ham det godt, andre end Assad, og var det ikke bare på grund af dårlig samvittighed? Det gik Carl ud fra.

For alle andre så han ud til at være aftenens store joke.

Assad hev fat i hans arm, da han var på vej ind ad døren til julefrokosten.

”Carl, stop. Hvad er der galt?”

Carl overvejede om han skulle sige sandheden, men blev så distraheret da der var en der piftede. Det var Børge Bak.

”Hey, se hvem der står under misteltenen,” sagde Bak.

Carl blev rød i hovedet, da hele festen vendte opmærksomheden mod ham og Assad. Hvordan kunne de være så dumme at stoppe op midt i døråbningen? Der var et par stykker mere der grinte og piftede.

Assad slap hans arm.

Carl kiggede irriteret over på sine kollegaer. ”Har I virkelig ikke andet at gå op i?”

”Lad nu være med at være sådan en dødbider, Mørck,” var der en der råbte. ”Hvis du nu gør det godt, kan det være du er så heldig at Assad tager med dig på det weekendophold.”

Denne gang var der flere der grinte.

Carl fik orienteret sig om hvilken kollega det var, og skulle til at svare igen. Sige at manden kunne rende ham. At ham og alle andre i lokalet kunne rende ham. Hele aftenen havde været et mareridt, og Carl havde fået nok.

Men inden Carl nåede at tænde af på sine kollegaer, fangede Assad hans opmærksomhed ved at vende hans ansigt og give ham et hurtigt kys på munden.

Carl registrerede ikke rigtigt at folk igen hujede, før de skålede og derefter vendte tilbage til deres egne samtaler. Alt Carl kunne gøre var stirre på Assad, mens en del af ham håbede på mere.

”Det var den nemmeste måde at få dem til at holde kæft på,” sagde Assad.

”Klart,” svarede Carl mat.

Assad gav Carl et klap på skulderen og gik tilbage til sin plads.

Carl blev stående et øjeblik. Forvirret, vred, såret.

_Det betød ikke noget_ , sagde han til sig selv. Selvfølgelig gjorde det ikke det. Han sank en klump inden han endelig gik tilbage til sin plads.

I samme øjeblik kom Rose ind i rummet. Hun gik over mod Carl og Assad med et lidt for stort smil.

Rose bøjede sig ned mellem dem. ”Hvad er det jeg hører ude på gangen?”

Carl kunne mærke at han stadig var varm i hele hovedet. Han bad inderligt til at man ikke kunne se det.

Rose grinte. ”Ej, det er simpelthen for sjovt. Jeg tror I to er de eneste, til hele den her fest, der ikke har drukket, og alligevel er I også de eneste to der er dumme nok til at stille jer under misteltenen sammen.” Hun gav dem begge to et klap på skulderen. ”Flot klaret, drenge.”

Så forsvandt hun igen. For fuld til at blive og snakke med dem, når der var så mange andre at snakke med.

Carl kiggede længselsfuldt over på snapseflasken. Måske skulle han bare gå hjem.

Så fik han et klap på skulderen. Han kiggede spørgende op på Assad, der havde rejst sig.

”Jeg skal lige på toilettet, lad nu være med at stikke af imens, okay?”

”Okay.” Carl nikkede.

Assad gik.

Carl blev siddende. Når alt kom til alt, ville han hellere være til den her skodfest sammen med Assad, end derhjemme alene.

Carl stirrede på døren, til Assad kom tilbage. Carl trak lidt på smilebåndet da han så ham.

Men Assad nåede ikke ind i lokalet, før han vendte sig om igen, da der var nogen der sagde hans navn.

I næste øjeblik kom en storsmilende Gitte hen til ham. Carls humør sank igen, og det blev kun værre, da Gitte pegede op på misteltenen og sagde noget, der fik Assad til at grine, før han gav hende et kys.

Carl sank lidt mere sammen i sin stol. Så fik han et hårdt klap på skulderen, af en der gik forbi.

”Det ser sgu ud til du har fået konkurrence, Mørck.” sagde manden.

Det var den samme idiot som havde gjort grin med ham før. Han gik sammen med en anden, og de grinte begge to. Carl skulede efter dem.

Da Assad kom over, sad Carl og stirrede ned i bordet. Assad havde kysset ham for at få kollegaerne til at holde kæft. Hvorimod Assad havde kysset Gitte fordi han havde lyst. Carl ville ønske det var omvendt.

Assad satte sig ved siden af ham. ”Det havde jeg sgu ikke regnet med.”

Carl kiggede op på ham. Assad smilte. Carl fik kvalme.

”Var det så godt?” spurgte Carl tørt.

Assad forvirret på ham. ”Hvad snakker du om?”

”Gitte. Var hun virkelig så god til at kysse?”

Carl flyttede sin opmærksomhed til en kapsel der lå på bordet. Han skubbede til den.

Assad fnyste. ”Er du jaloux?”

Carl svarede ikke. Han kunne jo ligesom ikke sige at, ja det var han, men at det var Gitte han var jaloux på.

Assad sukkede. ”Det betød ikke noget, Carl. Jeg er sikker på hun stadig er meget interesseret i dig.”

Carl fnyste. Det eneste Gitte var interesseret i, når det kom til ham, var gavekortet. Hvilket også var ligegyldigt, for han havde ingen interesse i hende. Desuden, forstod han udmærket godt hvorfor hun ville vælge Assad over ham.

”Okay, fint, så vær sur,” sagde Assad. ”Men det var nu slet ikke det jeg var overrasket over. Men derimod at du rent faktisk stadig er her.”

Carl rejste sig. ”Jeg ventede også bare på at sige farvel.”

”Carl, lad nu være,” sagde Assad opgivende.

”Vi ses på mandag,”

Carl gik, og ignorerede at Assad kaldte på ham.

Carl havde dog ikke planer om at tage hjem. Hvorfor skulle han det? Han ville bare komme hjem til et tomt hus, hvor han kunne sidde i sin ensomhed og selvmedlidenhed. Nej, så kunne han lige så godt gå ned i Afdeling Q og få lavet noget arbejde. Så ville han da have noget at samle tankerne om.

Da Carl sad ved sit skrivebord, havde han dog svært ved at koncentrere sig. Han sad bare og stirrede på en åben mappe med dokumenter.

Det bankede på døren, og selvom Carl ikke blev specielt overrasket over at det var Assad, spurgte han alligevel: ”Hvordan vidste du at jeg var her?”

”Fordi jeg kender dig.”

Carl brummede bare som svar.

”Så har du tænkt dig at sidde hernede resten af aftenen?” spurgte Assad.

”Jeg tænkte at jeg ville få mere ud af at arbejde, end at være deroppe,” svarede Carl.

Han vendte igen blikket mod dokumenterne.

Assad kom hen til ham, og lænede sig op ad skrivebordet.

”Jeg havde virkelig håbet at du ville have en sjov aften, Carl. Vi har arbejdet hårdt på det sidste. Vi kunne begge to godt have brugt en god aften,” sagde Assad.

Carl svarede ikke. Ikke nok med at han ikke havde haft en god aften, så lød det til at hans dårlige humør også havde ødelagt det for Assad. Men hvad nyt var der i det?

”Er du virkelig så sur over jeg kyssede Gitte?” spurgte Assad.

Carl trak lidt på skulderne. ”Du kan kysse hvem du har lyst til. Det er jeg ligesom ikke herre over.”

”Jeg gjorde det kun fordi hun sagde jeg skyldte hende det, efter jeg sådan havde taget dig fra hende nede i gården. Men jeg troede ikke det ville betyde noget for dig. Du virkede ikke specielt begejstret for hende.”

”Hvis du tror det var fordi det var hende…”

Fuck. Han havde sagt for meget.

”Så du er sur,” konstaterede Assad.

Carl kunne høre smilet i hans stemme. Men Carl stirrede bare fortsat på sine dokumenter. Det var dog kun til Assad drejede Carls stol, så Carl var tvunget til at se på ham.

”Så hvis det ikke var fordi det var hende, hvorfor så Carl?”

Carl så op på Assad. Han kunne mærke varmen stige i kinderne og hvordan hans hjerte begyndte at banke hurtigere.

”Det er lige meget.”

”Er det fordi jeg kyssede dig?” spurgte Assad.

Carl kunne ikke se ham i øjnene længere. Han kiggede ned. ”Selvfølgelig ikke. Som du selv sagde, så var det for at få de andre til at tie stille.”

Assad nikkede. ”Ja, det var bare en spøg.”

”Klart,” hviskede Carl.

Intet nyt der. Carl følte i forvejen, at han havde været til grin hele aftenen. Så hvorfor skulle noget der fik ham til at føle sig så usikker, ikke bare være en joke for alle andre? Ikke at han bebrejdede Assad. Han vidste at Assad aldrig ville såre ham med vilje.

Et øjeblik var der stille imellem dem.

”Medmindre at du selvfølgelig ikke tog det som en spøg,” sagde Assad langsomt. ”Fordi det faktisk betød noget for dig.”

Carl vendte hurtigt blikket mod ham igen. Måske lidt for hurtigt. Assad kiggede undersøgende på ham.

”Carl –”

”Det er lige meget!” afbrød Carl.

”Det er det jo ikke.”

Assad sagde det med så meget sympati i stemmen, at Carl næsten fik kvalme.

”Jeg har ikke brug for din medlidenhed,” sagde Carl irriteret. Han kiggede væk igen.

Der blev igen stille imellem dem.

”Hvad så med en aften uden konsekvenser?” spurgte Assad.

Carl kiggede på Assad med en panderynken. Han var oprigtigt forvirret.

”Hvad snakker du om?” spurgte Carl.

”Er det ikke det folk gør, til en julefrokost, har en flirt kun for én aften?” svarede Assad.

”Jo, hvis de er skidefulde. Jeg mener… Vent, du vil godt…? Med mig?”

Carl kiggede vantro på Assad. Men Assad smilte bare og nikkede.

”Ja, og i morgen kan vi lade som om det aldrig er sket,” sagde Assad. Hans smil svandt lidt da han sagde det, men han lød oprigtig.

”Det lyder som meget langt at gå, for at give mig en god aften,” sagde Carl.

Endnu engang undgik han øjenkontakt.

”Mon ikke at jeg også kan få noget ud af det,” sagde Assad.

Carl overvejede det lidt. For ham handlede det egentlig ikke om sex. Ikke rigtigt. Han ville bare gerne have intimiteten med Assad. Men hvad ville Assad have? Carl håbede inderligt at det for Assad kun handlede om sex. For så kunne Carl ikke såre ham. Men noget sagde ham at det ikke var tilfældet. Så han var nødt til at finde ud af det.

”Vi er enige om at det her kun handler om sex, ikke?” spurgte Carl.

Assad nikkede. ”Selvfølgelig.”

Carl var stadig ikke sikker. Ikke sikker på om han kunne gennemføre det. Ikke sikker på hvordan Assad følte. Alligevel rejste han sig og gik tættere på Assad. Også selvom hans hjerne skreg at det var en dårlig idé. Men han kunne ikke sige fra nu. Han var for desperat, efter at få lov til at have Assad, bare den her ene gang. Så han lagde sine hænder om Assads ansigt og kyssede ham.

Assad pressede ham op mod skrivebordet, lidt for hårdt, fordi han var ivrig. Det var ikke behageligt, men Carl var ligeglad. Han var bare glad for at Assad tydeligvis gerne ville have ham.

”Vil du blive her?” spurgte Assad. ”Vi kan også tage hjem til mig, det er jo ikke så langt –”

”Vi bliver her,” afbrød Carl. ”Jeg skal ikke risikere at du skifter mening på vejen.”

Assad smilte lidt sørgmodigt til ham. ”Det kunne jeg aldrig finde på.”

”Det ved jeg godt,” svarede Carl.

Men han turde stadig ikke tage chancen. Desuden ville det gøre for ondt at tage hjem til Assad, og vide at det kun var for én nat. Det gjorde allerede for ondt.

Carl trak Assad tættere til sig, og lagde sit hoved på hans skulder. Hvad fanden havde han gang i? Det skulle bare være sex, det var det der var aftalen. Det var det Assad var gået med til. Men her stod Carl og ville ikke give slip på ham.

Assad lagde armene om ham.

”Er du okay?” spurgte han.

”Ja,” hviskede Carl. ”Bare giv mig et øjeblik.”

”Selvfølgelig. Tag al den tid du har brug for.” Assad kørte sin hånd over hans ryg.

”Undskyld.”

”Det er okay, Carl. Jeg elsker dig.”

Carl lavede en klagende lyd. Det var ikke fair. Det kunne Assad ikke sige. Det kunne han ikke mene.

”Det var ikke en del af aftalen,” hviskede Carl.

”Du behøver ikke sige noget, Carl.”

Carl lukkede øjnene, og klyngede sig tættere til Assad. Han ville ikke se Assad i øjnene, og se skuffelsen der var så tydelig i hans ord.

Han begravede sit ansigt mod Assads hals. Han skulle kæmpe for ikke at sige noget. For hvad godt ville der komme ud af det? Han kunne ikke tilbyde Assad noget godt.

Assad lod igen en hånd køre op ad hans ryg, i kærtegnende bevægelser.

”Vil du gerne have at vi stopper?” hviskede Assad.

Carl rystede på hovedet, uden at fjerne sig fra Assad. Han kunne ikke håndtere det. Assad elskede ham. På trods af alt Carl havde budt ham. På trods af alle de gange hvor Carl havde skubbet ham fra sig. Så elskede Assad ham.

”Okay,” sagde Assad og blev ved med at holde ham.

Carl brugte et øjeblik mere på at samle sig, før han endelig trak sig lidt væk fra Assad og kiggede på ham.

”Fortæl mig hvad du gerne vil have.”

”Carl, jeg mener det, jeg forventer ikke at du har det på samme måde.”

Carl sænkede igen sit blik. ”Det var ikke det jeg mente.” Så kiggede han op på Assad igen. ”Jeg mente, fortæl mig hvad du har lyst til at vi skal gøre nu. Hvad du vil have at _jeg_ skal gøre.”

Assad smilte lidt til ham. ”Du kan gøre hvad du vil, Carl. Du skal ikke føle du skylder mig noget specielt.”

Carl kunne se at han mente det, men det ændrede ikke på, at han tydeligvis var ked af det de havde gang i. Det var Carl jo også selv. De ville begge to gerne have mere. Men hvad havde Carl at tilbyde? Ingenting.

”Du fortjener bedre, Assad,” sagde Carl.

”Burde det ikke være mig, der bestemte det?”

”Du har set hvordan jeg har været hele aftenen. Jeg kan ikke engang finde ud af at være til en åndsvag julefrokost, uden konstant at fucke noget op og ende op med at være til grin. Jeg er ikke værd at være sammen med. Alle andre kan se det. Jeg forstår ikke hvorfor du ikke kan!” sagde Carl frustreret.

Assad trak på skulderne. ”Måske ser jeg bare forbi det. Ser forbi alt dit selvhad og dine forsøg på at holde alle andre på afstand, ved altid at diskutere. Desuden, på trods af alt det du lige har sagt om i aften, så blev du alligevel. Hver gang du havde lyst til at gå hjem, blev du, og gav det en chance til. Der er tydeligvis en del af dig der gerne ville blive.”

”For helvede, jeg blev sgu da kun på grund af dig!” udbrød Carl.

Assad så overrasket ud.

Carl forbandede sig selv langt bort. Det var ikke sådan samtalen skulle udvikle sig. Hvordan skulle han nu kunne sno sig udenom hvad han rigtigt følte?

Carl sukkede. ”Jeg kom kun til den her fest på grund af dig. Fordi du spurgte om jeg ikke skulle med, og så sagde jeg bare ja, uden at tænke mig om. Fordi jeg gerne ville være sammen med dig. Jeg spiste den klamme risalamande på grund af dig. Og da du kyssede mig under misteltenen, kunne jeg godt lide det, men jeg hadede det også, fordi det ikke var andet end en joke. Men jeg hadede det endnu mere, da jeg så dig kysse Gitte, fordi jeg ville ønske at det var mig, i stedet for hende. Selv hvis det kun havde været som en del af en anden joke, eller… hvad end det er vi har gang i lige nu.” Han tog en dyb indånding. ”Og det er alt sammen fordi jeg elsker dig.”

Assad så en smule overvældet ud. ”Hvorfor sagde du ikke bare det lige før?”

Carl kiggede væk igen. ”Det har jeg jo lige sagt, du fortjener bedre.”

Assad trak ham tættere på igen, og tog fat under hans hage for at få ham til at se på sig.

”Og jeg sagde, at det kan jeg selv bestemme. Du er god nok, Carl.”

Så kyssede han Carl. Denne gang var det blidere, og Carl smeltede helt ind i det.

”Tror du på mig?” spurgte Assad.

Carl nikkede. ”Ja.”

”Godt.”

Carl smilede. ”Vil du så nu fortælle mig hvad du gerne vil have?”

”Det har jeg lige fået,” sagde Assad.

Carl trak sit ansigt lidt væk fra Assads, så han bedre kunne kigge på ham. Ikke om Assad skulle slippe afsted med mere af det sukkersøde pis.

”Kom nu, Assad. Fortæl mig hvad du vil have. Du ville så gerne give mig en god aften, lad mig gøre det samme for dig. Lad mig forkæle dig lidt.”

Assad kiggede ned i gulvet, og nikkede så. ”Okay. Fint. Jeg skal nok finde på noget.”

Carl smilte. Var Assad forlegen?

”Men så tager vi hjem til mig først. Jeg har ikke lyst til at være her mere,” sagde Assad og kiggede op igen.

”Det lyder godt,” sagde Carl.

”Og en anden ting.”

”Ja?”

”Jeg forventer at blive inviteret med på det weekendophold.” Assad smilede.

Carl gengældte smilet. ”Aftale.”

Carl trak Assad til sig for at give ham endnu et kys. For første gang den aften, følte Carl rent faktisk at det var ham der havde vundet.


	2. The Christmas Party

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, just some quick info to non-Danes. In Denmark we have this dessert called “risalamande”, that is heavily associated with Christmas. People never eats it outside of December.  
> It’s sort of a cold rice budding and it’s normal to put hot cherry sauce on top of it. You usually get it on Christmas Eve and at Christmas parties, and there is almost always an “almond gift” (mandelgave). Meaning, that there is a whole almond in the bowl with risalamande, and the person who gets it wins a gift.  
> The funny thing is, a lot of people (myself included) don’t really like risalamande that much, but still eat it at Christmas, just because it’s a tradition (and of course, because of the almond gift, lol).

Rose was staring at Carl with drunken eyes. Carl tried to ignore her.

“Why are you even here? You hate parties,” she said.

She was right. These kinds of events were not really Carl’s cup of tea, and in the hour or so he had been there, he had only talked very little with a few people.

If he was being honest with himself, he was only there because of one person. But Carl was not going to talk about that.

“Free food,” he said instead.

“Sure,” Rose said.

She clearly didn’t believe him. But at least she turned her attention away from him and started a conversation with the guy on the other side of her instead.

Carl rolled his eyes when _Last Christmas_ started playing for the third time.

It was official. This police Christmas party was the worst thing he had experienced all year. And that was despite that someone had tried to stab him in October.

If he at least could get drunk, like most of his colleagues were right now, then maybe it would be more bearable. But that was not an option. He had had an awful case of tonsillitis, so his doctor had given him penicillin.

It was almost gone now, and while he could swallow again without feeling like he was eating razor blades, he was still on penicillin and therefore officially cut off from alcohol. Though the only reason he complied with it, in this Christmas party hell, was because he was seated between Rose and Assad, and he knew that none of them would let him drink. Rose had already stopped multiple people from given him schnapps, with strict instructions that he was not allowed to drink. She seemed to really enjoy it.

Carl sighed when multiple of his colleagues sang along to the chorus. He had got to figure out who was in charge of the music before they started blasting _All I Want for Christmas is you_ again.

“Rose is right. Why are you here, Carl?” Assad asked.

Apparently, Assad had spent the last minute or so watching Carl being miserable.

Carl frowned at him. “Why are _you_ here? You don’t drink and you’re not allowed eat to most of the food. I mean, what other reasons are there, to attend a Christmas party, than eat and drink.”

“Maybe I just want to hang out with my colleagues and have a good time?” Assad smiled. “Besides, I’ve eaten plenty.”

“Yeah, right, and what was that? Some kind of vegan substitute for roasted pork, or some other bullshit?”

A few of their younger colleagues had insisted on having some vegetarian and vegan alternatives to the traditional dishes.

“Duck. Real, normal duck.” Assad said.

“Uh, did you make sure it was halal?”

“Why is it, that you just _always_ want to argue?” Assad shook his head.

Carl looked at Assad. He knew that he shouldn’t try and start an argument all the time. But it was just easier for him like that. It allowed him to keep his distance to certain topics. Like, his reasons for being at this party. And more importantly, certain feelings that were related to these reasons. Feelings that were beginning to cause him a lot of problems.

Carl got up. “I need a cigarette.”

But he soon felt a pair of strong hands on his shoulders that pressed him back into his seat. It was Peter, the guy who had arranged the entire thing.

“No, you don’t. Because now it’s time for risalamande,” Peter said.

Reluctantly Carl let himself be pushed back into his seat.

“Simone, can you turn off the music for a moment?” Peter asked.

One of the younger officers turned off the music with her phone. Well, at least Carl now knew whose phone he had to steal.

Peter clapped his hands together loudly. The room turned quiet and everybody turned their attention to him.

“Before we get too much schnapps and beer, I think it’s time for some risalamande. And of course, there will also be a present to the person who finds the almond.”

He took an envelope from his chest pocket.

“It’s a good one this year.” Peter held the envelope in the air. “The winner gets a gift card, for a weekend trip for two.”

There was excited mumbling around the table.

With only a few days to Christmas Eve, Carl figured that many of his colleagues would love to have an extra present to surprise their significant other with. Some would maybe have to give it to their better half, feeling guilty because they had been a bit too close to one of their colleagues.

Carl had already seen a few people who had been a bit too close with someone he knew they were not married to. But that was none of his business, that would be their own problem.

A flirt at this party was the last thing Carl had to worry about. He was not interested in getting involved with any of his colleagues. Well, except for one. But that was impossible, he knew that. For multiply reasons. And he had made his peace with that a long time ago.

“Carl, risalamande.” Rose put a plate in front of him.

Carl looked at the large portion of risalamande in front of him, it was covered in hot cherry sauce. He made a disgusted face.

“No thanks,” he said.

“Nonsense. You can’t have a Christmas party without risalamande.” Rose put the other plate, she had in her hand, in front of Assad. “Got one for you too, Assad.”

“Thanks, Rose.” Assad said. He didn’t exactly sound too excited either.

Rose went back to the buffet table to get a portion for herself.

Carl pushed his chair back again. Now he really wanted that cigarette.

Then he felt a hand on his shoulder again. This time a gentler touch. It was Assad.

“Just wait five more minutes, okay?” Assad smiled at him.

Carl sighed and definitive gave up on getting a cigarette, before the melted Dannebrog in front of him had been eaten.

It tasted awful. It could only be homemade.

Carl had eaten half of his risalamande when he found an almond. Meaning that he was the winner of the damn gift card. But Carl didn’t have any intentions of claiming the prize. He refused to fake the euphoria of winning that Peter and the other Christmas crazy fools would expect.

He pushed Rose a little with his elbow, till he got her attention.

“Let’s trade plates, Rose. I got the almond. You can have it,” he whispered.

She lit up in a big drunken smile, and loudly declared: “Carl got the almond!”

A mumbling conversation started around the table. Some were annoyed, that they weren’t the winners, others that it was Carl who was. Some were annoyed because of both.

Carl wished he could sink into the ground.

“Here you go,” Peter said and handed him the envelope. “And now I think that we’re all very excited to hear who you’re want to invite on the trip?”

“Yeah, Mørck, who’s gonna be the lucky one who gets to spend an entire weekend in your cheerful company?” someone from the other end of the table shouted.

There was laughter around the table.

Carl didn’t laugh. Not at all. Because the joke really hit him hard. At least neither Rose nor Assad laughed at him.

Annoyed, Carl shoved the envelope into his jacket pocket. Then he turned to Assad.

“So? Am I allowed to fucking leave now?”

Assad didn’t answer. He just gave Carl an apologetic look. But Carl didn’t stay to look at the sad sight. He just wanted that damn cigarette.

Carl didn’t feel calm before he got the first shot of nicotine. But his peace was cut short when a woman walked over to him.

“Hello!” she said.

“Hello?” Carl echoed.

He had never seen her before.

“I don’t think we have ever been introduced. My name is Gitte. Carl wasn’t it?” she said cheerfully.

Carl nodded.

“Well, I saw you won the gift card. That’s a nice prize, don’t you think?” she continued.

“I suppose,” he said.

For a moment he considered just giving it to her. Maybe then she would leave him alone. But then he decided that he would still rather give it to Rose.

Carl tried to ignore Gitte, but it was hard since she wouldn’t shut up. She kept talking about that damn gift card and tried to get him to say who he wanted to bring with him.

He looked over at a small group of people, who stood a few meters from them, couldn’t she go talk to them instead?

“There you are, Carl.”

Carl turned his head toward the familiar voice and breathed a sigh of relief when he saw Assad walking toward them. It looked like he once again would-be Carl’s savior.

“I was getting worried that you had left,” Assad said.

“Of course not, I just got caught up in Gitte’s exciting stories,” Carl said, successfully hiding his sarcasm.

Gitte hit him on the arm. “Your charmer.”

Carl gave her a tense smile before he looked over at Assad and mimed _help me._

Assad smiled at Gitte. “Can I borrow Carl for a moment? There’s something we need to talk about?”

“Yeah, sure. I’m just gonna go talk to the others in the meantime,” she said, waving her arm at the little group of people.

Carl walked back to the building as soon as he was sure that Gitte wasn’t looking. He had to get away while she was distracted. The sooner the better.

Carl was starting to get irritated. People wouldn’t leave him alone and he was feeling awful. Nobody seemed to be wanting anything good for him, except Assad. But really, wasn’t that just because Assad felt bad for him? Carl assumed that was the case.

To everybody else, he seemed to be the joke of the evening.

Assad grabbed Carl’s arm, when he was about to walk into the room, where they were having the party.

“Carl, wait. What’s wrong?”

Carl considered if he should tell the truth but got distracted when someone whistled. It was Børge Bak.

“Hey, look who’s standing under the mistletoe,” Bak said.

Carl’s face turned red when the entire room turned their attention toward him and Assad. Why had they been so stupid to stand in the doorway? A few people laughed and whistled.

Assad let go of his arm.

Carl shot his colleagues an annoyed glance. “Don’t you people have anything better to do?”

“Don’t be such a prude, Mørck,” someone yelled. “If you do a good job, maybe Assad will be your plus one on that trip.”

More people laughed.

Carl looked around, to he found the person who had said it. And all Carl wanted was to tell the man to go screw himself. That him, and everyone else in the room could just fuck off. This party had been a nightmare and Carl had had enough.

But before he got the chance to yell at his colleagues, Assad caught his attention by turning his head, so they were looking at each other, and then he gave Carl a quick kiss on the lips.

Carl barely registered that people cheered, toasted, and then returned to their own conversations. All Carl could do was stare at Assad, part of him hoping for more.

“It was the easiest way to get them to shut up,” Assad said.

“Sure,” Carl answered, still in shock.

Assad gave him a pat on the shoulder and went back to his seat.

Carl stood there for another moment. Confused, angry, hurt.

_It didn’t mean anything_ , he told himself. Of course it didn’t. He swallowed hard and finally walked back to his seat.

At the same moment, Rose entered the room. She headed over to Carl and Assad, with a big smile on her face.

“What is it that I’m hearing out in the hallway?” she asked when she was standing behind them.

Carl’s cheeks were still burning. He prayed it didn’t show.

Rose laughed. “Oh, it’s so funny. I mean, you two are probably the only ones at this party who hasn’t been drinking, and yet you’re also the only ones who are stupid enough to be standing under the mistletoe together.” She gave both of them a pat on the shoulder. “Well done, boys.”

Then she disappeared again. Too drunk to stay and talk to them when there were so many others to talk to.

Carl looked longingly at the schnapps bottle. Maybe he should just go home.

Then he got a pat on the shoulder. He looked questioning up at Assad who had gotten up.

“I’m gonna go to the bathroom, don’t leave while I’m gone, okay?”

“Okay.” Carl nodded.

Assad left.

Carl stayed. Despite it all, he would rather be at this shitty party with Assad than home alone.

Carl stared at the door to Assad returned. Carl smiled a little when he saw him.

But just as Assad was about to step into the room, someone called his name from the hall. He stopped to talk to them.

In the next moment, a smiling Gitte came over to him. Carl’s mood sank and even more so when Gitte pointed at the mistletoe and said something that made Assad laugh before he kissed her.

Carl was back to feeling awful. Then he got a hard pat on the shoulder, from someone who was walking by.

“Looks like you got some competition, Mørck,” the man said.

It was the same idiot who had made fun of him earlier. Both him and his friend laughed. Carl glared at them.

Carl was staring down at the table when Assad came over. Assad had kissed him to make their colleagues shut up. While Assad had kissed Gitte because he wanted to. Carl wished it were the other way around.

Assad sat down next to him. “Didn’t expect that.”

Carl looked up at him. Assad was smiling. Carl’s stomach turned.

“Was it that good?” Carl asked dryly.

Assad gave him a confused look. “What are you talking about?”

“Gitte. Was she that good of a kisser?”

Carl turned his attention to a bottle cap that was laying on the table. He pushed it.

Assad snorted. “Are you jealous?”

Carl didn’t answer. It was not like he could say that yes, he was jealous, but that it was Gitte he was jealous of.

Assad sighed. “It didn’t mean anything, Carl. I’m sure she’s still into you.”  
Carl snorted. The only reason why Gitte had showed any interest in him, was because of that stupid gift card. And he had no interest in her either. Besides, he couldn’t blame her for choosing Assad over him.

“Okay, fine, be mad,” Assad said. “But just so you know, that wasn’t what I was talking about. I was just surprised that you were still here.”  
Carl got up. “Well, I was just waiting to say goodbye.”  
“Don’t be like that, Carl,” Assad sighed.

“See you on Monday.”  
Carl left, ignoring that Assad called his name.

Carl didn’t have any plans on going home though. Why would he? He would just come home to an empty house, where he could sit and dwell in his loneliness and self-pity. No, he would rather just go down to Department Q and get some work done. At least there he would have something to focus on.

However, Carl didn’t get much work done when he later sat down at his desk. He found it hard to concentrate. He just kept starring at the same documents.

It knocked on the door, and while Carl wasn’t surprised to see Assad, he still asked: “How did you guess that I was here?”

“Because I know you.”

Carl grumbled.

“So, do you plan on just sitting down here for the rest of the evening, or what?” Assad asked.

“I figured that it would better to get some work done than be up there,” Carl responded.

He turned back to his documents.

Assad walked over to him and leaned against the desk.

“I had really hoped that you would have some fun tonight, Carl. We have been working hard lately. We could both have used a good night’s fun,” Assad said.

Carl didn’t respond. Not only had he not had a good night, it sounded like his bad mood had also ruined it for Assad. What a surprise.

“Are you really that mad that I kissed Gitte?” Assad asked.

Carl shrugged. “You can kiss whoever you want. That’s none of my business.”

“I only did it because she said I owed her, after stealing you away from her. But I didn’t think you would mind. You didn’t seem that fond of her.”

“If you think it was because it was her…”

Shit. He had said too much.

“So, you are mad,” Assad concluded.

Carl could hear the smile in his voice. But Carl just kept staring at his documents. However, that was only until Assad turned Carl’s chair around, so Carl was forced to look at him.

“So, if it wasn’t because it was her, then why, Carl?”

Carl looked up at Assad. He could feel the warmth rise in his cheeks again and how his heart started to beat faster.

“It doesn’t matter.”

“Is it because I kissed you?” Assad asked.

Carl couldn’t look him in the eye anymore. He looked down. “Of course not. As you said, it was just to get the others to shut up.”

Assad nodded. “It was just a joke.”  
“Sure,” Carl whispered.

Nothing new there. Carl already felt like the joke of the evening. So why should something that made him feel so vulnerable, not just be a joke to everybody else? Not that he blamed Assad. Carl knew that Assad would never hurt him on purpose.

There was silence between them for a moment.

“Unless of course, you didn’t take it as a joke,” Assad said slowly. “Because it actually meant something to you.”

Carl quickly looked back up at him. Maybe too quickly. They looked at each other for a long time.

“Carl –“

“It doesn’t matter!” Carl cut him off.

“Of course, it does.”

Assad said with such heavy sympathy in his voice that it almost made Carl sick.

“I don’t want your pity!” Carl said angrily. He looked away again.

There was silent between them once again.

“Then what about a night without consequences?” Assad asked.

Carl frowned at Assad. He was genially confused.

“What are you talking about?” Carl asked.

“Isn’t that what people do at a Christmas party? Have a flirt, just for one night,” Assad said.

“Yeah, sure, if they are drunk enough. I mean… Wait, you want to…? With me?”

Carl looked at Assad, now even more confused than before. But Assad just smiled and nodded.

“Yeah, and tomorrow we can just pretend that it never happened,” Assad said. His smile faded a little when he said it, but he sounded sincere.

“That sounds like an awful lot to do, just to give me a good night,” Carl said.

He avoided eye contact once again.

“Well, I’m sure I’m gonna get something out of it too,” Assad said.

Carl thought about it. For him, it wasn’t about sex. Not really. He just wanted intimacy with Assad. But what did Assad want? Carl hoped he just wanted sex. Because then Carl couldn’t hurt him. But something told him that that wasn’t the case. He had to make sure.

“And we agree that this is just about sex, right?” Carl asked.

Assad nodded. “Of course.”

Carl was still not sure. Not sure if he could go through with it. Not sure what Assad felt. But he still got up and stepped closer to Assad. Despite his brain screaming at him that it was a bad idea. He couldn’t stop now. He was so desperate to have Assad, just this once, that he couldn’t stop himself. So, he cupped Assad’s face and kissed him.

Being eager, Assad pressed him against the desk a bit too hard. It hurt a bit, but Carl didn’t care. It was nice just to be wanted.

“You want to stay here?” Assad asked. “We could go to my place, it’s not that far –“

“Let’s stay here,” Carl interrupted. “I don’t want you to change your mind on the way.”

Assad gave him a sad smile. “I would never do that.”

“I know,” Carl said.

But he still didn’t want to take the chance. Besides, it would just hurt too much spending the night at Assad’s knowing that it would only be a one-time thing. It already hurt too much.

Carl pulled Assad closer and put his head on Assad’s shoulder. What the hell was he doing? This was just supposed to be about sex, that was the deal. That was what Assad had agreed to. And yet was Carl just unable to let go off him.

Assad put his arms around him.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

“Yeah,” Carl whispered. “Just give me a minute.”

“Of course. Take all the time you need.” Assad moved his hand up and down Carl’s back.

“Sorry.”

“It’s okay, Carl. I love you.”

Carl groaned. That wasn’t fair. Assad couldn’t just something like that. He couldn’t be serious.

“That wasn’t part of the deal,” Carl whispered.

“You don’t have to say anything, Carl.”

Carl closed his eyes and clung harder to Assad. He didn’t want to look Assad in the eye and see the disappointment that was so easy to hear in his words.

Carl buried his face in the side of Assad’s neck. He had to fight not to say anything. For what good could that ever bring? He had nothing to offer Assad.

Assad kept gently caressing his back.

“Do you want to stop?” Assad whispered.

Carl shook his head, still not removing himself from Assad. He couldn’t handle it. Assad loved him. Despite everything Carl had put him through. Despite all the times Carl had pushed him away. Assad somehow loved him.

“Okay,” Assad said, still holding him.

Carl spent another moment, getting himself together before he pulled away from Assad and looked at him.

“Tell me what you want,” Carl said.

“Carl, I mean it, I don’t expect you to feel the same way.”

Carl lowered his gaze again. “That wasn’t what I meant.” He looked up at Assad again. “I meant, tell me what you want to do now. What you want _me_ to do.”

Assad gave him a small smile. “You can do whatever you want, Carl. You don’t have to feel like you owe me anything special.”

Carl could see that he meant it, but that didn’t change that he was clearly sad about what they were doing. And Carl felt the same. They both wanted more. But what did Carl have to offer? Nothing.

“You deserve better, Assad,” Carl said.

“Shouldn’t I be the one to decide that?”

“You’ve seen how I’ve been acting all night. I can’t even be at a stupid Christmas party without fucking up or ending up being the butt of everybody’s joke. I’m not worth being with. Everybody else can see it. I don’t understand why you can’t!” Carl said frustrated.

Assad shrugged. “Maybe I just see past that. Past all your self-loathing and attempts at keeping everybody at a distance by always starting an argument. Besides, despite all of that you said about tonight, you still stayed. Every time that you wanted to go home, you stayed and gave it another chance. Clearly, some part of you wanted to stay and have a good time.”

“Goddammit, I only stayed because of you!” Carl shouted.

Assad looked surprised.

Carl cursed himself. This wasn’t how the conversation was supposed to go. How was he supposed to keep lying about his true feelings?

Carl sighed. “I only came to this party, because of you. Because you asked if I was going, and I just said yes, without thinking about it. Because I wanted to spend time with you. I ate that nasty risalamande because of you. And when you kissed me under the mistletoe, I liked it, but I also hated it, because it was nothing more than a joke. But even more so, I hated to see you kiss Gitte because I just wanted it to me. Even if it was just a part of another joke, or… whatever this is that we’re doing right now.” He took a deep breath. “And all of it is because I love you.”

Assad looked a little overwhelmed. “Why didn’t you just say that before?”

Carl looked away again. “I told you, you deserve better.”

Assad pulled him closer and turned his chin up, so Carl had to look at him.

“And I told you, that I can decide that for myself. Carl, you are good enough.”  
Then he kissed Carl. It was softer this time, and Carl melted into it.

“Do you believe me?” Assad asked.

Carl nodded. “Yeah.”

“Good.”

Carl smiled. “So, will you now tell me what you want?”

“Well, I just got what I wanted,” Assad said.

Carl pulled a bit away from Assad, so he better could look at him. No way that he would let Assad get away with saying yet another grossly sweet thing.

“Come on, Assad. You wanted so badly to give me a good night, let me do the same for you. Let me do something nice for you. I just want to make you feel good.”

Assad looked down and the floor and nodded. “Okay. Fine. I’ll think of something.”

Carl smirked. Was Assad being shy?

“But first we are gonna go to my place. I don’t want to be here anymore,” Assad said and looked up at him again.

“Sounds good,” Carl said.

“And another thing.”

“Yeah?”

“I expect to get invited on that weekend trip you won.” Assad smiled.

Carl returned the smile. “Deal.”

He leaned in for another kiss. For the first time that evening, Carl felt like he had won.


End file.
